


Wine Stains Blood Stains

by crookedneighbour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Creepy, F/M, Internalized Misogyny, Over the Top, Short, Vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedneighbour/pseuds/crookedneighbour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei/Qyburn as requested by anonymous tumblr users.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine Stains Blood Stains

He had asked her not to visit during his work. 

_"You may ask anything of me, my lady, but that time must be had alone."_

She hadn't listened. She was a lion, it wasn't her place to listen.

Qyburn was covered in blood up to the wrists, deep red stains pouring over his clothes and painting his slender arms.

The girl was alive only in the loosest sense of the word. Her heart was almost still and her eyes were glassy and empty. But she was a traitor and had stood against Cersei, against House Lannister. 

At the first sign of her presence he had turned to face her, and he was _different_. There was a kindliness about him usually, a deceptive one, but a kindliness all the same. Here there was just fascination and hunger (all those secrets in so little flesh), and when he looked at her it all broke. Qyburn's hunger shattered into something stranger, an indescribably pained look, as two words slipped from his lips, unbidden.

"My... Lady..."

He was her only ally, and allies needed to be kept loyal. It even felt nice to know that she still had her beauty, that men still desired her as much if not more than that Tyrell whore.

She let his lips press against his, and his bony hands cup her breasts. She thanked the seven he did not push to enter her. The brush of her fingers elicited a long slow moan from the ex maester and she wondered how well he had kept his vows in days past. Was he one of the grey sheep who buggered boys or purchased women? Or had his tastes run darker, viler? (Oh she knew now, how she knew).

Qyburn climaxed with a low hiss almost as quickly as the whole thing started.

She left him that way, heavy lidded from his release. Back in her own quarters she washed her hands of it, letting the memories of meat and flesh leave with other, more obvious, evidence. She watched the wine flow into her glass, not thinking of the blood, and swallowed it down swiftly, not thinking of anything except for that they had added far too much clove.


End file.
